


Possible (16/39?)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [16]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:47:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian talks a little</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible (16/39?)

Over the next few days they got Ian everywhere he needed to go. Between Mickey, Mandy, and the Gallaghers, they picked up Ian's meds, persuaded him to take them, got him to the clinic for his appointments, and showed up, at least in part, at the family therapy sessions. 

Mickey didn't mind the group sessions too much; he found that if he kept quiet, some of the Gallaghers would be drawn into conversation -- although he assumed they were bullshitting most of the time. It seemed to be their instinctive reaction to questions, which he could identify with.

Mandy didn't join the sessions but she did her part to help get Ian to his appointments, and sometimes she'd ask Mickey how it was all going. 

"What do you do there?" she asked, with languid curiosity.

"Where?"

"Those family shrinkfests."

"Talk." Mickey took a gulp of beer. Ian happened to be up this time, sitting beside him on the couch with his eyes mostly shut, not seeming to listen

"Who talks?"

"Gallaghers, mostly." 

"About what?"

"I dunno. Seems like that counsellor skank always wants to know about their plans."

"Plans?" Mandy sounded amused. 

"Yeah, you know." Mickey shrugged. "Life goals or some shit."

"She ask Ian what his goals are?"

Mickey glanced at Ian. "They ask you about your goals, Gallagher?"

Ian didn't open his eyes. "Sometimes."

"What do you say?" Mandy said to Ian, and Mickey was kind of glad she was the one to ask.

But he just lifted a shoulder and frowned a little. "Nothing."

For a second Mandy hesitated. "What about the others?" she said, with a kind of consciousness.

"Who, the Gallaghers?" Mickey couldn't tell what she was getting at. "They make shit up as usual. Right, Ian?"

That got a tiny smile. "Mostly."

But Mandy didn't laugh. "Lip?" she said, her voice just a little lower than usual. "He ever say what his goals are?"

Mickey got it. "The fuck do you care?" 

"Don't."

"So what you asking for?" It came out more harshly than he meant, and he caught a glimpse of something in her eyes that made him feel like he'd swallowed a small rock, before she turned away.

But Ian spoke up. "His plan is to get out of the south side, Mandy. Same as it always was."

Mickey stared at him. "How?"

"School. He figures he can get some kind of job in a robotics lab or something. " 

Mandy paused on her way out of the room. "He going back to school next year?"

"Yeah. Looks like his grades are high enough to keep the scholarship."

She didn't turn back, but Mickey could see some faint change in the set of her shoulders. "Good for him," she said, and went on into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. 

Mickey looked at Ian. "The fuck you get so talkative?"

Ian turned his head toward Mickey, as though it were too much effort to move his whole body. "She's my friend, Mickey."

For a moment Mickey didn't respond. He took another swig of beer and then said quietly, "She's lucky." 

***

Ian still didn't talk much, usually. Most of the time, he had a way of enduring all the activity in stoic silence, as though it were a penance he had accepted even if he didn't believe in redemption. He allowed himself to be led around and swallowed the pills Mickey gave him without comment; he even began eating and getting out of bed a little more often. But he didn't have much to say.

Watching him swallow yet another pill in silence, Mickey found himself wondering again what was going on in Ian's head. 

"How's it feel so far?" he asked. The nurse and doctor had been clear that the meds would take a couple of weeks to kick in, while the side effects -- of which they'd given a very long list -- would start immediately.

Ian shrugged. "Mouth's a little dry. Not bad."

"Feel like puking?"

"Sometimes."

It didn't look like Ian was going to add anything else. Mickey had a sudden, almost desperate yearning to know what Ian really thought about what they -- he -- had done to him.

"Look, if it don't help you can stop."

Ian glanced up at him. "'S okay."

"I didn't mean to ... Just wanted you to try it."

"I'm not mad at you, Mickey."

For a second Mickey felt a rush of relief, but something else flooded in behind it. He dropped onto the edge of the bed, his back to Ian. "Maybe you should be."

"What ... for wanting me to get help?"

"No." Mickey wasn't quite sure what he meant. He shut his eyes, and remembered that first morning when Ian wouldn't get out of bed. Right after the fight at the bar. "Maybe I got you into this in the first place." 

"Huh? How?"

Another image appeared in Mickey's mind: Ian, young and confident, describing geometry, algebra and gun trajectories; explaining his plans for Westpoint and becoming an officer. "You were doing good before. Before you got mixed up with me."

"Oh, you wanna be a drama queen now?"

Mickey looked over his shoulder at Ian. "No, man. But it ever occur to you that maybe hangin' out with me and my family ain't been the best thing for you?"

Ian gave one of his short painful laughs. "Yeah it's occurred to me. Lip's mentioned it enough times."

"Maybe Lip's right."

"Mickey, you didn't make me this way. Neither did Mandy, or your dad, or Svetlana, or your kid or any other Milkovich family member. It's in my genes." 

"You mean because of your mom."

"It would have happened sooner or later. Had to hit one of us. I'm just the lucky one." Ian spoke in his usual bland, expressionless tone, the one Mickey was starting to hate.

"Don't mean you have to give up. Plenty of people have inherited conditions."

"You're not letting me give up."

Mickey twisted round on the bed to stare at Ian, and found him looking at him with a small smile. For a second Mickey felt like he was choking. He caught his breath, and mumbled, "'M not giving up on you either." 

Ian's smile was still small, but he reached over to put his hand on Mickey's arm. The feeling was warm and unexpected; Mickey felt like he hadn't been touched in years. He stared down at Ian's hand and then covered it with his own. "Ian ... " 

Ian fingers tightened on his arm. "Don't -- I can't -- "

"It's okay." Mickey released the grip he'd started to make, and stroked lightly instead. "Just like this. Okay?"

The smile faded, but Ian didn't remove his hand. He nodded, his eyes on Mickey's face, and Mickey leaned up gratefully to turn off the light. Then he slide down and curled into Ian, keeping just enough contact to remember the feeling. "Night, Ian." 

In the darkness he heard Ian breathing, and then a whisper from just beside him. "Thanks, Mickey. Night."


End file.
